It's not even noon yet but every table out front of the Pecan Lodge in downtown Dallas is filled with veterans with barbecue heaped on their plates, smirking at the gobsmacked newbies. First timers are easily discernible by the stunned looks on their faces when they walk in and see the line.

Half the people standing in line are not even going to get barbecue; it's going to run out before they can order. A little after noon, owner and pit master Justin Fourton comes out, gauges the line and then tapes a sign warning that barbecue supplies are dwindling.

When Fourton and his wife, Diane, first opened Pecan Lodge three years ago, it was nothing like this.

"In the beginning, you know, it was just the two of us and a couple employees," says Diane Fourton. "On Sundays, we'd roll the TV out and watch the Cowboy game back here in the kitchen and we had a sign that we'd set up on the counter that said, 'Ring the bell for service.' So in case a customer came up, we wouldn't miss them."

But that was before the sage of Texas barbecue, Daniel Vaughn, discovered them. Vaughn is barbecue editor at Texas Monthly, and he rated the Fourtons' restaurant as the fourth best barbecue joint in Texas in the magazine and in his book, The Prophets of Smoked Meat, published in May.

Diane Fourton remembers the exact moment they heard they were number four on the list.

"It was like winning the lottery — we just leapt in the air," she says. "We were screaming, there was champagne popping ... it was like crazy, crazy awesome joy."

Vaughn is not even from Texas — he's a transplant from Ohio. But after traveling more than 10,000 miles and eating at more than 600 barbecue joints, there's few on the planet who've put such a wide variety of Texas barbecue to the test.

Vaughn often traveled with a photographer, which would invariably attract attention. The owner, upon finding out Vaughn's mission, would ask, "So what do you think?"

"Well, if the barbecue is not any good and they ask what I think, I'll just find something that I liked about it and I'll say, 'The potato salad was really good' and leave it at that," Vaughn says.

But of course some owners really want to know. Vaughn recalls one joint in East Texas where the owner pressed him about the quality of the brisket.

Vaughn told him it was incredibly tough. "I could barely pull it apart; it just really wasn't that good at all," Vaughn recalls. "And of course he comes back out, he's got these little nuggets of brisket, they're nice and tender, really good. It's just like, 'Well, why aren't you serving this to everybody?' "

Vaughn's motto is "I eat the lousy barbecue so you won't have to." And he says it's brisket that is the pinot noir of Texas barbecue.

Chicken and ribs and sausage and pork all have their important places. But if you want to be considered one of the great pit masters, your brisket is what gets you admitted or not into the barbecue Hall of Fame, he says. This is because it's so labor-intensive and so difficult to make tender, juicy brisket with just the right sublime smoky flavor.

This little nugget of wisdom is Texas gospel. Pecan Lodge attracts some of the most knowledgeable customers in North Texas, like Dixon Wiles. He says anyone can learn to make good pulled pork or ribs.

"But the real trick — and I've been working on this for 20 years myself — is cooking brisket and doing it right so that it doesn't dry out and that it turns out tender and that it's great," he says.

This is why the restaurant owners are almost always the pit masters, too. It takes Justin Fourton 15 hours on average to cook a brisket. This means he's up at 2 a.m. to make sure the pit fire is just right.

A huge barrel-like barbecue pit holds dozens of briskets. It's stunning to think that all this meat will be gone in just a couple of hours — there's only lunch at Pecan Lodge.

"It's all manual. It's just basically the wood and the meat and the seasoning that we put on it, and that's pretty much it," says Fourton.

Before he became a pit master, Fourton was a consultant at Accenture who regularly worked 60 hours a week. He says this is much harder — it's 130 degrees in the smokehouse in the summer and he says he never gets enough sleep. And while he's ready for a bigger restaurant, he says there never will be more than one, because he doesn't think he can keep the quality the same.

"This is hardest work I've done for the least amount of money that I've ever made," he says.

From Lockhart to Driftwood to Taylor to Austin and now in Dallas, too, a new generation of pit masters are making their mark. You can tell just how good they are by the length of the lines outside their barbecue joints.

Copyright 2013 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Transcript

RENEE MONTAGNE, HOST:

Barbecue is always a topic for discussion in Texas, and now a book has made the subject even hotter. It's titled "The Prophets of Smoked Meat." It's by Daniel Vaughn, barbecue editor of Texas Monthly magazine. And it has made the reputation of a number of young barbecue chefs, while upsetting some critics by leaving out a handful of longtime favorite spots.

NPR's Wade Goodwyn introduces us to some up-and-comers, and the author who put their restaurant on the map.

WADE GOODWYN, BYLINE: If you're trying to find the Pecan Lodge barbeque restaurant in Dallas for the first time, good luck. You'll drive up and down South Pearl Street, your GPS laughing at you: Its right here, you moron. But where? You roll down your window to ask a guy on the corner, and wham, the sweet smell of barbeque brisket fills your nostrils like smoke signals from heaven. The GPS was right - it's here, somewhere.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #1: KP?

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #2: I'm going to get a three-meat brisket, pork ribs and original sausage.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #3: All right.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #1: Order for KP.

GOODWYN: Tucked inside Dallas Farmer's Market Shed Number 2 is a sight that stops you in your tracks. A line of people winds around the front of the Pecan Lodge, down the side, around the back and then out of sight. I mean, it's air conditioned in here but are you kidding me?

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #4: High how are you doing?

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN: Hi.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #4: What can I do for you?

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN: Can I get the two-meat and a side with the brisket, pulled pork and mac and cheese?

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #4: Yes, uh-huh.

GOODWYN: It's not even noon yet but every table out front is filled with Pecan Lodge veterans, barbeque heaped on their plates, smirking at the gob-smacked newbies. First timers are easily discernable by the stunned looks on their faces when they walk in and see the line. And get this: half the people standing in line are not even going to get barbeque - it's going to run out before they can order.

A little after noon, owner and pit master Justin Fourton comes out, gauges the line and then tapes a sign on the back of Sony Kalluvilayil, who can't see the cash register from where he's standing.

JUSTIN FOURTON: It says: Hello My Name is Slim Pickins. If you are standing in line behind me, consider the Southern Fried Chicken, barbecue provisions are low. Kindly pass the word.

GOODWYN: When Justin Fourton and his wife, Diane, first opened Pecan Lodge three years ago, it was nothing like this.

DIANE FOURTON: In the beginning, you know, it was just the two of us and a couple employees. And on Sundays, we'd roll the TV out and watched the Cowboy game back here in the kitchen. And we had a sign that we'd set up on the counter that said: Ring the Bell for Service. So in case a customer came up, we wouldn't miss them.

GOODWYN: But that was before the sage of Texas barbeque Daniel Vaughn rated the Fourton's restaurant as the fourth-best barbecue joint in Texas, in his book. Vaughn's ratings also appeared in the popular magazine Texas Monthly. Diane Fourton remembers the exact moment they heard they were Number 4 on the list.

D. FOURTON: It was like winning the lottery. We just leapt in the air. We were screaming. There was champagne popping. We were throwing money at our staff and giving them champagne, and...

(LAUGHTER)

D. FOURTON: ...it was like it was crazy, crazy, awesome joy.

(SOUNDBITE OF A KNIFE SHARPENING)

GOODWYN: Author Daniel Vaughn is not even from Texas. He's a transplant from Ohio. But after traveling more than 10,000 miles and eating at over 600 barbecue joints, few on the planet put such a wide variety of Texas barbecue to the test. Vaughn often traveled with a photographer, which would invariably attract the attention of the owner who, upon finding out Vaughn's mission, would ask: So what do you think?

DANIEL VAUGHN: Well, if the barbecue is not any good and they ask what I think, I'll find something I liked about it and say, you know, the potato salad was really good, and leave it at that.

GOODWYN: But, of course, some owners really did want to know. He recalls one joint in East Texas where the owner pressed him about the quality of the brisket.

VAUGHN: No. Really, really what do you think? I was like, well, it was incredibly tough actually. I could barely pull it apart - it really wasn't that good at all. Oh, oh I'll be right back. And, of course, he comes back out. He's got these little nuggets of brisket - they're nice and tender, really good. And it's like, well, why aren't you serving this to everybody? Why does it take a special request to get your best stuff?

GOODWYN: Vaughn's motto is: I eat the lousy barbeque so you won't have to. It's brisket that is the pinot noir of Texas barbecue. Yes, chicken and ribs and sausage and pork all have their important places. But if you want to be considered one of the great pit masters, your brisket is what gets you admitted or not into the Barbeque Hall of Fame. It's because it's so labor-intensive and so difficult to make tender, juicy brisket with just the right, sublime smoky flavor.

DIXON WILES: The bottom-line is in barbecue is, it's all about the brisket.

GOODWYN: This little nugget of wisdom is Texas gospel. Pecan Lodge attracts some of the most knowledgeable customers in North Texas, like Dixon Wiles.

WILES: Look, anybody can do good pulled pork. And good ribs, anybody can learn to do. But the real trick - and I've been working on this for 20 years myself - is cooking brisket and doing it right, so that it doesn't dry out and that turns out tender, and then it's great.

GOODWYN: This is why the restaurant owners are almost always the pit masters too. It takes Justin Fourton 15 hours on average to cook a brisket. This means he's up at 2 in the morning to make sure the pit fire is just right.

J. FOURTON: We're in the smokehouse right now, out behind the restaurant. And this is the second pit that we've had. This is Virgil.

GOODWYN: A huge barrel-like barbeque pit holds dozens of briskets. It's stunning to think that all this meat will be gone in just a couple of hours; there's only lunch at Pecan Lodge.

J. FOURTON: There's nothing mechanical about it, no electricity. It's all manual. It's just, you know, basically the wood and the meat and the seasoning that we put on it. And that's pretty much it.

GOODWYN: Before he became a pit master, Justin Fourton was a consultant at Accenture, who regularly worked 60 hours a week. He says this is much harder. It's 130 degrees in the smokehouse in the summer and he says he never gets enough sleep. And while he's ready for a bigger restaurant, he says there never will be more than one.

Why not have another one, or three, or five, or 10?

J. FOURTON: I don't think I can keep the quality the same.

GOODWYN: But don't you want to be rich?

J. FOURTON: Nah, no. We decided long ago. We didn't get into it - this is hardest work I've done for the least amount of money I've ever made.

(LAUGHTER)

GOODWYN: From Lockhart to Driftwood to Austin to Taylor, and now in Dallas, too, a new generation of pit masters are making their mark. You can tell just how good they are by the length of the lines outside their barbeque joints.